The year away from home that changed my life & changed my game

Leaving home is never easy, especially when you’ve grown accustomed to your comfort zone. But when the opportunity comes to have a ball in a  faraway land, how can you possibly say no?

I’m fortunate to have been loved by the most caring of parents, but I’m not sure I am fully independent yet. This despite being married and having a 10-year-old lightie of our own to care for. Yes, I can pay my own bills and do my own laundry, but even with my dad being frail and elderly, I don’t ever want to be fully independent of him. That time will come, sadly, but until then, he is my North.

In the quest for independence, is it not amazing how we all wish our lives away? Oh so eager to leave home, so we can make decisions sans parental “Interference”. Yet hindsight tells us how good those carefree, decision-free times actually were.

Looking back on my road to independence, I remember being dropped off at primary school for the first time, my first night at boarding school, boarding the plane to Italy as part of a 1^st XV rugby tour, being handed the keys to my first car – a yellow Corolla obviously called the Yellow Peril – moving into res and then digs while at UCT, getting my first job, as a data capturer at Old Mutual, and buying my first flat.

But one period in my life really stands out in the journey to independence. Having finished my studies at UCT, I got the opportunity to spend three months at a club called called Cascais in Portugal, their professional player during the South Africa off-season. Nowadays the norm, but then fairly unique.

Three months away from home, in a country not so big on English, as the player paid to make a difference to their season. It was with a mix of excitement and trepidation that I handed over my boarding pass to the TAP air hostess.

Travelling on my own, without a printed itinerary enforced by someone paid to look after me, was way more challenging than our three-week school tour to Italy. We roomed in the depths of the local stadium, eating meals made by a notoriously grumpy chef called St. Louis,  and trained on a “field” that had absolutely no grass.

Only allowed one phone call a week, used primarily to phone the folks, we would have to sneak into the president’s office at night to try and stay in touch with our better halves. Being more of a morning person, it was a bit of a challenge getting to grips with their post-match entertainment, that often included taking a siesta before heading out.

But I got to play in the green of Cascais, meet some truly passionate people, hook up with mates and see a bit of Europe over the Christmas break. I also got my fill of leitão assado da bairrada – suckling pig cooked in a banana skin, until the flesh is creamy.

A game-changer, in that I arrived back home knowing I now had a lot of the tools needed to handle the things that life was about to throw at me. I felt so much more comfortable in my own skin. Confidence born out of experience, is how some shrinks might put it.

But perhaps the key lesson from rugby on this topic, is around making that individual independence prosper as part of a greater cause. Yes, you want to play for the 1^st XV, but that individual cause is hugely enhanced by being part of a successful team.